The Edge of Sin
by allg0nemadd
Summary: She was a pool of sin he should have altogether avoided, but did not. Instead, he stood on the edge, looking into the temptation with a morbid hunger much like the one he felt when he caressed the blade of his razor." Toddett, ADULT CONTENT, mild gore.


**The Obligatory Spiel**: _All characters belong to their respective creators; I am only playing with them. Thanks for reading, and as always, R&R!_

The Edge of Sin_  
_

His razor glinted in the light. Bright, flashing, smooth, sharp. He ran a finger down the edge, disappointed as it resisted his skin. The leather strap sat next to him, waiting. He took it in his hand, running a finger down the tight and smooth skin. With a sigh of pleasure, he sharpened the blade of the razor. _Shhhlk_, _shhhlk_; the noise soothed him.  
He held the razor up to the light again, and ran a finger down the blade. A bead of blood, dark and thick, slipped down his finger. Satisfied, he smiled. His finger tingled with the pain. He hadn't even gotten blood on the blade of the razor. It's mirrored face again shone in the light, and he spotted something move in it's reflection.  
She was behind him. Pearly, milky-white skin bright against the black of her dress, she stood at the end of the room, closing the door behind her. Dark, round eyes burned into his in the reflection of the blade. He lowered the razor, slipping it back into it's handle. Slowly, he turned. Her chest rose and fell lightly as she breathed.  
Without a word, he stepped towards her, his finger dripping blood on the cold wooden floor. She backed up against the door, her eyes apprehensively on the razor still in his hand. He stopped in front of her, raising his free, blood-stained hand towards her cheek. She looked momentarily frightened, until his hand gently stroked down her soft cheek, stopping at her chin. Her eyes reflected the window behind him, glowing brightly in the dimly lit room. A drop of his blood dripped from his finger, down onto her bosom, running slowly down her breast and into her dress. The blood was black against her paper-white skin.  
Still holding her chin, he brought her mouth to his. Her lips trembled beneath his mouth as he caressed her lower lip and chin. He gently pushed her up closer against the door as he moved his mouth to her soft neck. His tongue traced the soft, white hairs below her jawbone, tasting her sweet skin. Her bosom rose and fell heavily as she shuddered under his lips. He slowly brought his hand to her breast, cupping it over her dress. His mouth was at her chest now, and his tongue slowly licked along the line of still-wet blood up to her collarbone.  
His hand slowly moved inside her dress, cupping her soft, warm breast. Her nipple hardened under his cold hand, and small goosebumps rose along her chest and bare arms. His other hand flipped the blade of the razor out and he slowly cut open the top of her dress down to her stomach. Her bare, white flesh trembled as the razor passed over it, only the width of a hair between it and the blade.  
He dropped the razor to the floor as he stood before her. His eyes hungrily ran down her body, stopping at the large patch of white he had just revealed. The sides of her breasts peeked out from the inside of the dress, and he moved his hands to the shorn edges and opened it. Her dark pink nipples were tight and hard. He covered one with is hand and the other with his mouth. He could hear her heart beating quickly as he gently suckled her.  
Something warm and wet splashed against his forehead, and he looked up to see a tears running down her pale face. Her eyes closed and her mouth open slightly, she was frowning as if concentrating while several more tears fell from her eyelids and rand down her pale chest. He could not tell if she was truly upset, but he had gone to far to stop himself now.  
Her lower lip trembled as he pushed himself against her, her back firmly against the wooden wall. His hands cupped her head gently as he kissed her mouth, his bloody finger leaving a small trail along her temple. He could taste the salt of her tears, mixed with the left-over tinge of his own blood that still lingered on his tongue. He moved his hands to her hair, feeling the soft curls as if his hands had never felt anything so pleasing. Gently, but with purpose, he ran his hands through her hair until her head tilted back and her soft neck was exposed.  
He marveled on the innocence of her skin. So pale, soft and fragile: unmarred by dark, masculine stubble, bright red razor rash or greasy, creased-in dirt. This neck had never been touched by the blade of a razor, and it had no reason to be. Not only did it not grow hair, but it had not committed unforgivable offences. It had not forced upon it the lips of the unwilling. It had not oppressed. It had not been the source of whispered exploits that had ripped away his life so swiftly like a frigid gust of wind. No… this neck was innocent, pure. It would not see the edge of his blade.  
Instead, he softly kissed it, hearing the light shudders of breathing beneath it. He brought his eyes back to hers, which were now open and expectant, waiting with enticed apprehension. He was quite ready. His hands began to ease up the bottom of her dress, gathering handfuls of fabric and bunching it up between his stomach and hers. Hastily, he opened his trousers, finally releasing himself from their confining tightness. She watched, her cheeks still glistening with trails of tears, as he adjusted himself against her. His hands holding her hips, he entered her slowly, his eyes on hers. Her eyes flashed for a moment, as if she were about to cry again, but she did not. Slowly he dug his hips into hers, holding himself there for a moment before pulling back and doing it again. She whimpered lightly, pleasantly. He increased his tempo slowly until their bodies were making a soft thudding noise against the wall.  
He did not take his eyes off of hers. Her eyebrows folded together as her eyes again filled with tears and her lower lip quivered. He did not slow; he knew she did not want him to. Her eyes shut slowly, a fresh tear quickly rolling down her cheek and lingering on her jawbone. His hand moved to her face, slowly wiping the wetness away as he continued to move in and out of her. He let his hand slide absently to her chest, once again slipping inside her shorn dress and cupping her breast.  
Their breathing had quickened; his low and raspy and hers in quick shudders. He felt her shuffling under his weight, her hands suddenly gripping his hips and her eyes opening. For what seemed like the first time, she looked at him. Her brow still furrowed, but her tears stalled, she studied his face. He could feel her gaze like a warm beam of light, comforting and understanding all at once. It was in those eyes he felt himself close to the edge. She was a pool of forbidden sin; an unforeseen temptation he should have altogether avoided, but did not. Instead, he stood on the edge, looking into the temptation with a morbid hunger much like the one he felt when he caressed the blade of his razor.  
He could not turn back…  
He felt her body stiffen beneath his, realizing then he was holding the wall with all his muscle and furiously ramming his body into hers. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down his temple, leaving a freezing trail against his skin as the air kissed it. Her eyes were closed again, her mouth open slightly. He found it hard to keep his own eyes open as currents of pleasure rippled through him. Her nails dug desperately into his hips and her whimpering increased, until she suddenly stiffened and gasped, her eyes opening and rolling back into her head. He studied her sweet, dark lips and pale neck as she breathed heavily beneath him, before he felt his own ecstasy consume him, halting his hips and stiffening his body. He groaned deeply as he still held himself inside her.  
Her chest rose and fell with her quick breathing. He too breathed heavily, and felt another trickle of sweat run down his cheek. His hand moved to her cheek, wiping away one last stray tear that fell as she gazed at him. Her lips turned up slightly into what he perceived to be a smile, though her eyebrows still remained together in a an apprehensive curve.  
Slowly, in that smooth voice he learned to love so much, she murmured, "Thanks, Mister T."

_R&R always appreciated!_


End file.
